


Meeting the Mark

by wafflehouse_cryptid



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, F/F, F/M, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Multi, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Reader-Insert, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflehouse_cryptid/pseuds/wafflehouse_cryptid
Summary: "Tell me y/n, would you have me killed? Would you like to see the life flicker from my eyes as I gasp for breath beneath your blade? Or would it be silent, quick and deadly? Leaving me to bleed as you packed and disappeared once again? You've escaped me many times, my dear, but you always come back. We must return to play the same game."You, star student of the FBI academy, are thrown into a world of danger when you meet Dr. Hannibal Lecter.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter, Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character(s), Bedelia Du Maurier/Reader, Hannibal Lecter/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my first attempt at anything besides proper research papers, so if it seems stuffy, that's why! I am familiar with academic writing, but creative writing has never been my strong point. If you notice any errors, feel free to point them out in a kind way. Cheers! Also, I in no way, shape, form, or fashion advocate for cannibalism. To each their own, but I am not interested in that way of life.

Hannibal stalked the halls of the FBI academy in pursuit of his newest client, instructor Will Graham. His presence commanded the room, and people jumped out of the finely-dressed man’s way. Your eyes bulged as you saw one of the state’s best psychiatrists headed straight towards you. As he neared, you saw that he probably wouldn’t notice you before he stepped on you and all your notes. It wasn’t uncommon to see you doing schoolwork on the floors of the corridor. The library had already banned you because you refused to sit at a table. You refused all tables and chairs, citing that the floor helped you think; it kept you grounded. You scrambled to gather your notes, and as paper always does whenever it is dropped, the page containing the conclusion to your thesis slid into oblivion, stopping just before Dr. Lecter’s next step. Ever the man on a mission, Lecter stepped on your paper, and you grumbled as you watched it crinkle under his shoe.

  
The squeak of his leather shoe alerted you of his abrupt stop. You looked up and beheld the second-best psychiatrist in the state of Maryland, second to only your own therapist, Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier of course. You flushed as he looked down at you. Always well-dressed, you felt to put shame by him in your thrifted skirt and blazer, but you held his gaze defiantly, willing him to comment on your attire.

  
“Y/n, I presume?” He held out your paper, and you accepted it with a small smile.

  
“Yes, uh, that’s me. Sorry to bother you Dr. Lecter.” You took a moment to compose yourself. “Professor Graham is in lecture at the moment if you are looking for him,” you added quickly.

Hannibal cleared his throat. “I was looking for professor Graham yes, but seeing as he is currently occupied, I wouldn’t want to interrupt; that would be rude.”

  
“Quite,” you replied, not glancing up from your task of sorting and stuffing papers back into their respective folders.

  
“Your conclusion is, interesting. I took the liberty of glancing at it before I handed it back. I do hope I did not offend you by stepping on it first. Most students do not sit in the hallway to complete thesis papers as complex as this.” At this, you barked a laugh. Very few students or professors had the nerve to call you out for sitting on the floor to get your work done. You were the best and brightest the academy had to offer. I appeared Hannibal had no such qualms: he did psychoanalyze people for a living after all.

  
“I suppose most wouldn’t, but I like the space. The library already banned me except for checking out books,” you confessed. Hannibal took a seat on the bench closest to your workspace and pressed his fingers together therapist-style. You breathed a quiet sigh of release, far more at ease now that he had perched somewhere instead of towering over you.

  
“So, tell me, y/n, do you really feel that cannibalism should be acceptable if consensual? That surely opens up serious moral quandaries that you neglected to discuss in your conclusion.” With this statement, Hannibal made direct eye contact, and you refused to be intimidated.

  
“Yes, actually I do, and if you read the entire paper it discusses those moral quandaries you mentioned. This is one of the most ethical forms of meat a human can consume because animals lack the means to consent, and they are still intelligent beings deserving of respect. I personally wouldn’t eat someone, but several criminal cases have surfaced recently where someone was eaten with their consent. The other participants are often jailed and tried for a crime they truly did not commit. It isn’t fair!” The eyes of passersby bored into your skull as you huffed from your outburst. You were passionate about many things, and the injustice in the so-called “justice” system was something that you could not tolerate.

  
Hannibal sat thoughtfully for a moment as you composed yourself. “An interesting take certainly. You cannot ignore the compelling idea of overpopulation as well.”

  
“Oh, I discussed that on page six…I think anyway,” you said, rummaging through your bag on the hunt for the elusive page. “Ah, here it…is.” As you handed the page to Hannibal, you made eye contact with Will Graham as he exited the lecture hall. His eyes peered at you with confusion until he saw who you were talking to; his face then contorted in resentment. Will was never good at controlling his emotions around you; the mask always dropped when he looked at you. Hannibal, seeing you were distracted, turned and looked at Will. He smiled and waved, beckoning Will to join the conversation, before turning his attention back to your paper. You took your paper back after Hannibal finished and quickly stuffed it back into your bag.

  
“It was nice meeting you sir. Tell Professor Graham I said hello,” you stuttered as Will drew nearer.

  
“It was a pleasure, y/n. Thank you for indulging me. I wish you luck with your thesis.” Hannibal reached out and grasped your hand gently. He pressed his lips to it lightly before releasing you, leaving you in a daze. Seeing Will less than ten feet from where Hannibal and you stood spurred you into action. You grabbed your bag and bolted, but not before you whispered one last goodbye to Hannibal.

  
Once you were a safe distance away, you slowed your pace and heard of bit of the two men’s conversation.

“Hello, Hannibal.” You heard Will say. “I see you’ve met my student, y/n.”

“Yes, she’s quite remarkable. Are you aware of the nature of her thesis?”

  
“I am.” Will gritted his teeth. “Though you’re hardly here to discuss my students’ theses.”

  
“Ah yes, of course, shall we?” Hannibal extended his arm for Will’s book-laden satchel, and the two walked in silence back to Will’s office.

  
The fabric of your backpack’s strap scrunched under your fingers as you gripped it tighter. Turning on your heel, you headed straight for your car, eager to get home and resume your research into Will Graham’s inscrutable psychiatrist after having met the man for yourself.


	2. Chapter 2

Your fingers flew as you typed keyword after keyword into your internet browser. This tedious task proved fruitful as you received a hit on your search. “Hannibal Lecter Receives Coveted Psychiatry Award,” the title read. Scanning the article, you quickly found what you were searching for, a photograph of the elusive man. He stood unsmiling as he appeared to shake the hand of the individual handing him the award. You took a screenshot of the image and saved it to a hidden folder on your computer.

Your research over the past few weeks had been delayed due to your upcoming thesis deadline and because of your attendance of a new lecture series on campus given by Dr. Alana Bloom. After meeting Hannibal for yourself, you resolved to finish your quest for knowledge about him though everything you had found so far was about his accomplishments. He was a private man and did well to keep out of the public eye even though his fame often preceded him at social events. You learned that he enjoyed the opera and the things of high society; that much you were able to worm out of Will after buying him several beers.

“Pretentious bastard,” Will had slurred. “He likes opera ‘n all that kinda stuff.”

Sighing, you opened another tab and began searching for an evening gown. If you wanted to know more about Hannibal what better way to learn than from those with whom he regularly consorted, and if you happened to run into the man himself, then you could learn directly from the source. The table vibrated as your phone buzzed incessantly, reminding you of your afternoon appointment. Your laptop clicked closed, and you grabbed your keys before remembering the package on your table. Turning, you grabbed the package and flicked off the light.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

“Since when are dresses so expensive!”

“Since the dawn of high society dearest,” your psychiatrist and friend, Bedelia Du Maurier soothed. “I very well doubt you want to spend the rest of your session talking about your fruitless internet searches.” You nodded and began telling her about your progress and the ups and downs of the past two weeks.

Dr. Du Maurier had been your first and only therapist, and you had been seeing her since early high school. The woman knew more about you than any of your friends, not that you had very many, or your parents. She took only a few select clients after the attack on her life three years ago. You were one of the few privileged enough to still see her though you weren’t sure how much longer your arrangement would last. Dr. Du Maurier was a seemingly gentle person, but she had a knack for drawing in trouble. Something in the back of your mind told you that she had another dangerous individual in her sphere. The way she spoke quickly and quietly as opposed to her usual deliberate tone only confirmed this suspicion. Though, your mind could hardly be trusted, seeing as you had been seeking therapy for close to half your life now.

As the conversation drew to a close, you noticed her eyes flickering to the door. You followed her gaze and saw nothing. When you met her eyes again, Bedelia’s face softened. Small tears threatened to ruin her flawless makeup. You held a bated breath, waiting for the inevitable.

“Y/n, I feel that it is in both our best interests if you stop seeing me professionally.” Your eyes welled up with tears. Bedelia continued, “I am closing my practice formally this time. I will not be taking clients anymore.” And the dam broke. Your stifled sobs filled the room. Bedelia’s warm hand patted yours gently.

“I see,” you managed to choke out, standing to leave.

Bedelia stayed seated, contemplating her next move before following suit and extracting herself from her chair. She reached to hold you. Your head rested against her shoulder as you cried into her red silk blouse. She cradled you until your sobbing subsided; then she held you at arm’s length. “This does not mean we will never see each other again.” You took a deep breath and nodded. “Though I fear that day might come sooner than I think,” she muttered under her breath. “We just will no longer be meeting here, and that also means I am no longer bound by legal doctor-patient confidentiality, only the fidelity of friendship.” A dark look flashed in her eyes.

You removed yourself from her arms. “Okay, um…I got this for you. I guess it’s more of a parting gift than a birthday present now,” you murmured, pulling the poorly-wrapped package from your bag.

“Thank you, dear.” The clock chimed. “That is the end of your session. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Ah yes, sorry, I’ll be going. When could I see you again, unprofessionally of course?”

Bedelia sighed and looked towards the door once again. “I will reach out to you once I feel it is safe. This change will take its toll on you. Seeing me too soon could cause you to relapse back into grief.”

“I understand. Well, I’ll be going.” Bedelia nodded and returned to her chair, letting you see yourself out. Once outside you took a moment to compose yourself. No more therapist means no more games you promised yourself. _You’re completely on your own now,_ your brain chided. “Shut up brain. I know that.”

“Talking to yourself, are we? I heard you had been seeing Bedelia, but I didn’t know it was for psychosis,” a silky voice said.

Whirling around to see who had spoken, your foot caught on your untied bootlace. A pair of arms shot out and caught you before your face could be formally acquainted with the ground. “Ah my apologies, I did not mean to frighten you.” Hannibal stood mere inches away as his hands held onto your arms. He steadied you and released your arms to smooth out any wrinkles from his suit coat. Once having done so, he affixed his attention back on you, noticing a lipstick smudge on the collar of your shirt. “I see you are fond of Bedelia as well.”

You flushed at his statement. “Thank you,” you said, remembering your manners. “I’ve been seeing her for a while yes.”

“It is my understanding that she is no longer seeing clients.”

“How did you…?”

“She is my colleague,” Hannibal answered succinctly. “We are also friends. She has been my mentor for many years now. It appears that you are in the market for a new therapist. I am grateful to have caught you,” Hannibal smirked, “It just so happens that my practice is seeking a new client.”

“What happened to your other client?” You asked without thinking.

Hannibal schooled his features into a mask of cool indifference. “Rather unfortunate actually, he committed suicide. He was making good progress too. Even with the best guidance, people, like lambs, often go astray, don’t you think?” You nodded. The wheels of your mind turned over this new information, and you committed it to memory. “Here is my card. If you are interested, please reach out. I look forward to working with you.”

Bedelia looked out from her window and noticed you speaking with Hannibal. She sighed and shook her head. You were soon going to be out from under her protective wing and going to fall right into the devil’s clutches. She turned back to her cup of tea. The curtain rustling broke your trance, and you smiled uneasily at Hannibal. “Thank you, Dr. Lecter. I’ll be sure to be in touch regarding my decision.”

“Yes of course, y/n. It would be a shame for such talent to go to waste because of an illness left unchecked.” You nodded and hopped into your car. As you left, you saw Hannibal ring the doorbell, Bedelia welcomed him inside.

_I wonder what they talk about._ This thought kept your mind occupied on your drive home and well into the evening, even as you were preparing dinner much to your dog’s chagrin as she was hoping for you to drop her a bite of your meal.


	3. Chapter 3

Little did you know the real conversation played out far differently than you ever could have imagined.

Hannibal stepped inside Bedelia’s home and took his usual seat in the patients’ chair. “I cannot help but feel responsible for your recent decision, Bedelia. It was my referral who nearly took your life,” he began. Bedelia hushed him.

“Hannibal, what happened was no more your fault than my own. Sometimes, in this profession, we meet people we might not particularly like. We tolerate them until they no longer tolerate us, and then, they must be dealt with accordingly.”

“Of course, Dr. Du Maurier. And what of your patient, y/n? You are leaving her to fend for herself when she clearly needs help.”

“Hannibal…,” Bedelia said in a warning tone.

Hannibal continued, “Why just this afternoon she was talking to herself in your driveway. Is that not a clear sign of a mental illness?”

“Not always, and she is none of our concern. She is my patient, not yours.”

“Though not for much longer,” Hannibal said. He looked at the papers on the coffee table in search of a document. “I see you still haven’t voided the confidentiality agreement. What could Miss l/n be hiding that you are keeping from me? Never mind, I’m sure I will find out when she begins sessions with me.” Bedelia sat silently, waiting for Hannibal to continue gloating. “Yet another patient snatched up. Bedelia, when will you learn that I am your better?”

“Yet, here you are, in a session with me. Oh Hannibal, you and I are on the same level, but we have different tactics to reach that level. Do not talk such rot; it’s unbecoming.” Bedelia knew that she would pay, in one way or another, for that slight.

“To become the best, one must learn from the best, and I feel that perhaps you are out of tricks to teach me. Now tell me, do you intend to refer her professionally or shall I wait for her to come to me? You know I will request her records regardless.”

“And you will have what you want, but in return, our sessions will stop. You said it yourself; you have learned all you can from me.”

Bedelia saw in her mind’s eye the precarious line of danger and friendship begin to blur. Hannibal could easily kill her the same way he had his patient, but this time it could not be ruled self-defense. It would not be undeserved. She had committed her share of crimes though none as heinous as Hannibal’s own. The tension crackled as the pair sat in silence. Bedelia expected such; she would surely be punished for making such a demand. She was in no place to bargain. She wanted to protect her friend, but she couldn’t anymore. Hannibal had it in his mind that he would have y/n for his collection, and no person or system would stand in his way.

The rumble of laughter reached Bedelia’s ears. Hannibal’s chest shook, and his fine dress shirt wrinkled under the strain. “Bedelia, is that really what you want? You want to stop seeing me?” Hannibal sobered up for a moment and stared at her for a moment. “It appears you have some doubts about the nature of our relationship. I am having a dinner party next week. You and y/n will be the guests of honor should you choose to attend.” Bedelia opened her mouth before thinking better of it. “I am sensing you are displeased with my current guest list. Please, Bedelia, who would you have me invite?”

Bedelia leaned back into her chair and sighed. “The guest list is not up to me, Hannibal. I am not the host of this affair, and I will not dictate whom you choose to invite.”

“But you, as my partner, have say in whom we allow into our home.”

“Hannibal, you know I don’t get romantically involved with my patients, regardless of their status.”

“Very well, y/n will be invited. Whether she chooses to attend will be up to her. Though, I doubt she would turn down an invitation.” Hannibal moved to rise from his chair, but Bedelia motioned for him to sit.

“Notify me when you send the invitation; I wouldn’t want it to get overlooked. Oh? And Hannibal, do be careful. Playing with fire without getting burned only happens so many times before your coat catches flame. You may go.”

“My dear, I am the flame. It is others who should be careful.” Hannibal flashed his teeth. “I will of course notify you. Also, you might do well to not move the curtains when spying. Goodbye, Bedelia.”

“Goodbye, Hannibal.”

Bedelia sank lower into her chair as Hannibal saw himself to the door. She sucked in a breath and got up. Her resolve broke as she walked past the whiskey and her crystal tumblers, both gifts from Hannibal. Pouring herself a glass, she stopped to savor it. Hannibal might be the devil, but be bought excellent gifts. This particular set was purchased after the first time Bedelia was confronted by the FBI. Her nerves calmed and her resolve renewed, Bedelia brought the glass to the kitchen. She grabbed her coat, keys, and the pistol she kept stashed in a kitchen drawer and walked out into the night.


End file.
